


A Training Day

by tenderly_wicked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caning, Humiliation, M/M, Punishment, Slash, Slavery, Threesome, supposed non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderly_wicked/pseuds/tenderly_wicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=126455233#t126455233">for this prompt</a>. Sherlock, naked and collared, is given a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Training Day

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta primalmusic.

“Sherlock can be so difficult sometimes.”

Greg manages to say these words with both disapproval and affection. Sherlock is kneeling on the floor beside his chair, naked except for a soft leather collar around his neck. He’d look like a proper slave, but a not-really-submissive glare betrays him as Greg proprietarily digs a hand into his thick curls.

“I see,” John confirms with military brevity and takes a sip from his cup of tea.

“I knew he would be, right from the start, when I bought him from the police auction,” Greg sighs, absently combing through Sherlock’s hair. “He was given basic training of course, after he’d been sentenced to sex slavery and publicly deflowered—drugs, you know.”

John nods. “Yeah. Dreadful business.”

“But this training… It doesn’t seem to be enough. It was so superficial. It’s a production line after all; one slave is trained after another, and no individual attention is paid to any of them. I mean they taught him to take it up his arse and to suck cock, and demonstrated to him the consequences of misbehaving. But he does it all… um… without proper enthusiasm. He’s not as eager to please as a slave should be. Actually, he’s lucky it was me who bought him. If it were Anderson instead—one of my colleagues, not really a nice person—Sherlock would have ended up in rehab by now, rendered unfit to be a private sex slave. You know how they correct slaves in rehab. And then a brothel, probably. What a waste it would be.”

“Looks like you’ve got attached to him.”

Greg smiles almost shyly. “Yes, I know. I’m too indulgent with him sometimes. That’s why I need someone else to train him. If we rule out rehab, then you see why I’m looking for an expert working for private clients. You’re the one with the best recommendations. Miss Adler said she deeply regretted you’d left her unit.”

“Thank you,” John says without false modesty. “So let’s list the problems. Any serious infractions of discipline? Does he use an enema kit regularly, to be clean and ready to perform his tasks?”

“He does, but he’s very fastidious by nature, so keeping himself clean isn’t a problem for him.”

“Enthusiasm is.”

Greg shrugs. “That, and a kind of cheekiness. I like it to some degree, but not when we’re in public. The thing is, I don’t want him brainwashed and broken completely. He has a sharp mind, he could be of use at crime scenes. But he’s got a sharp tongue as well—how can I be sure he doesn’t embarrass me in front of my colleagues? I’m an authority figure; I should be able to control those in my command, including my own slave.”

Sherlock makes a face at the “authority figure” line, and John clicks his tongue. “I see what you mean. Will you permit me—?”

Greg’s vague gesture probably means “go ahead”. John stands up and roughly pulls Sherlock up to his feet by the collar. Gulping for air, Sherlock has to comply, and John shoves him to the desk in the middle of the living room. “Bend over it. Arse out.” Then he turns to Greg. “It’s the first principle of training. Punishment must follow a misdeed immediately. Now, surely you’ve got a cane somewhere.”

While Greg is out of the living room, fetching a cane, John comes close to stand right behind Sherlock and traces a line along Sherlock’s spine with his index finger. “Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. And you’d better do your best to show you can be obedient. Believe me, you don’t want to be taught good manners by a correction squad instead.” He parts Sherlock’s buttocks and circles his puckered hole, which tightens in apprehension. “Not lubed. Hm. I see you neglect your main duty, to be ready for usage.” A finger breaches the tight sphincter, and Sherlock gasps at discomfort. “Stop that,” John chides him. “It’s your own fault. You could be enjoying this, as all good slaves do.”

Greg comes back with a cane, and John gives Sherlock just one more rough jab up his arse.

“I’d recommend you have the cane on display constantly,” John says. “He should always remember that you can use it any time you want. Do you cane him often, by the way? It’s better to do it regularly, with additional beatings if he misbehaves. He should get used to the thought that you can do it whenever you like. Besides, I imagine cane marks will look lovely on him. Let’s find out. Do you mind if I do it?”

Sherlock howls at the first blow and clutches at the edges of the desk. John pauses before hitting him again. “Do you maybe want to say something, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, and immediately gets another stroke across his backside. “And what about now?”

Three more blows and—“I’m sorry,” Sherlock growls.

John gives him one more. “Just because he regrets his misbehaviour, it doesn’t mean you should forgive him instantly,” he explains to Greg. “Besides, Sherlock should have added ‘sir’ to his apology. Still, some positive reinforcement would be good. Well, more or less positive. I mean anal intercourse. It always creates the right master/slave rapport after the caning. It’s another way of marking your property, so to speak.”

Greg seems to like the idea. He’d been watching the caning without much gusto, but he traces the red welts on Sherlock’s creamy-white buttocks with fascination. Sherlock jerks, hissing.

“You’d better please your master as best you can,” John warns him and lifts Sherlock’s chin with the tip of the cane. “Show him you’re grateful for correction. Is that understood?” 

The cane presses harder into Sherlock’s neck, and finally a stifled “yes, sir” follows.

“I could wait in the kitchen, Mr. Lestrade,” John says in a more casual tone, pulling the cane away. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll watch. To see how he reacts. Think of me as a doctor; no need to be shy around me. My interest is purely clinical.”

With Greg’s permission, John stays, comfortably seated in a chair. Greg doesn’t push his pants down, he just unzips them and nudges his erection against the crease between Sherlock’s buttocks, breaching the tight ring of muscle without stretching it properly first. Sherlock groans through gritted teeth when Greg slowly pushes into him—but stays in place. While Greg isn’t looking, John spreads his legs a little wider and touches the bulge in the front of his jeans, kneading it idly through the fabric. Greg squeezes Sherlock’s slim hips more firmly and quickens the pace. Every thrust all the way in makes Sherlock grunt. At last, Greg grabs a handful of Sherlock’s hair, yanks his head back and comes with a satisfied moan.

John shifts slightly in his seat, crossing his legs, as Greg tucks his private parts back into his trousers and pats Sherlock’s striped backside. 

“Keep this position,” he says, then returns to his chair and sits down opposite John. “So, Mr. Watson, what measures do you propose?”

John rubs his chin. “Well, I’d say your slave is quite capable of enjoying his duties—look, he’s half-hard now—but some training is necessary indeed. A cheeky slave should always remember his place. If he’s saying too much, then he’s thinking too much. He needs purely physical sensations to shut his mind out and to turn his attention to those parts of his body that are more important for his current status.”

John casts a glance at Sherlock, who is still standing bent over the desk, his chest and hands pressed flat against its surface, a drip of come oozing down his thigh.

John clears his throat, distracted, and continues, “He needs a routine to ground him. I’ll think his daily timetable out. He should work hard to improve his… um… skills, learning to stretch himself or practicing his blowjob techniques on dildos, preferably at regular hours. I’d also suggest predicament bondage at night, and butt plugs during the day. A cock ring is a must too. And until he learns to behave in public, it’s better to provide diversions for him prior to going out—insert a piece of ginger root into his anus, for instance. It will do him no harm, it just creates an intense burning sensation down there. He’ll be thinking of nothing else but getting home and having the evil thing taken out. I’ll be supervising his progress of course, but he should respond to your commands in the first place, or else punishment will follow. If he behaves himself, you can give him a small reward for diligence from time to time. What does he like?”

Greg suddenly grins. “Well he seems to like leafing through my case files. Would you like some more tea, perhaps, Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, that would be great.”

While Greg is in the kitchen, John comes to stand beside Sherlock.

“What was I saying to you? Ah. Yes. We’ll be spending so much time together,” he murmurs in a low voice. “And in the end, I’ll tell your master if you’re worth training at all, or if it’s better to give up on such a hopeless slave. So you’d better be _very_ enthusiastic about doing everything I say. Later, when we’re alone, you’ll show me what they’ve taught you about blowjobs. Let it be our little secret. There will be a reward if you’re a good boy. Not an intellectual one, but I bet you’ll like it.”

John reaches between Sherlock’s parted legs and lightly cups his balls. Sherlock makes a barely audible sound in his throat. “Oh yes,” John croons, his fingers ghosting along Sherlock’s penis. “Your first training day will be quite memorable, I promise.”

Sherlock’s hips buckle, and he suddenly comes, shuddering violently, viscous ropes of semen spurting out.

“I think your slave has been rather naughty, Mr Lestrade,” John calls out in a louder voice. “Look what he’s done to your carpet. Does this happen often?”

***

It’s late in the evening, and the day has certainly been a memorable one.

“Did you like it?” John asks, applying lotion to Sherlock’s backside. Sherlock is now lying on the bed, his face tucked against Greg’s armpit and both hands clasped around Greg’s midriff, while Greg keeps stroking his hair, still slightly damp after the shower.

“Could be better next time,” Sherlock grumbles, too lax to lift his head. He’s had his share of fun, and now he generously allows them both to pet and soothe him. “Too much talking. Also—Anderson? Seriously?”

“Well, you shuddered when I mentioned him,” Greg chuckles softly. “So it looked like it worked for you.”

Sherlock lets out an indignant huff, which probably means it really did.

“I thought you’d safeword out after I first hit you with the cane,” John admits.

“Oh. That’s why you asked me if I wanted to say something.”

“It would be all right if you did.” John leans in and plants a quick kiss between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. “It was you who suggested it after all. I’m still not sure how you managed to talk Greg and me into it.”

“I liked the idea about ginger plugs,” Greg says dreamily. “If we convince him to wear something like that at crime scenes, maybe he really will be distracted enough not to sneer at my team.”

John giggles. “Not likely to happen. It’s Sherlock, remember.” He carefully parts Sherlock’s buttocks, inspects the reddened opening once more. “More ointment maybe?”

“Stop fussing around and come here,” Sherlock mutters tetchily. John switches off the lamp on the bedside table, obediently climbs back onto the bed and pulls the duvet over them all. His hand comes to rest across the small of Sherlock’s back, the palm touching Greg’s hip. Sherlock usually resents cuddling and tends to toss and turn a lot during the night, but now he seems to be so sated that he doesn’t mind falling asleep cozily pressed between them and still wearing his collar like some kind of trophy. He said the game could be better next time. That means there’ll _be_ a next time.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://tenderlywicked.tumblr.com).
> 
> My BDSM-ish novel [Tenderly Wicked](https://www.amazon.com/Tenderly-Wicked-Katerina-Ross-ebook/dp/B01LYGUJ02/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1473767605&sr=1-1#nav-subnav).
> 
> My paranormal M/M series [The Sons of Gomorrah](http://a.co/0ttTWNF)


End file.
